


Patience and Fortitude

by frostian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Spoilers up to season 3.06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-03
Updated: 2007-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostian/pseuds/frostian
Summary: Sam finally has a chance to fulfill a lifelong dream.  Unfortunately he has to go on a hunt to get it.
Relationships: None
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Daniel Thompson helplessly stared at his son’s bedroom door, listening to his only child openly crying. It wasn't long before the gut-wrenching sounds forced him to confront his son.

“Jason, please, talk to me,” he pleaded weakly.

“Why the hell should I?”

“I know you…”

“I told you what I saw!” Jason exploded, his anguished face crumpling up further in distress. “And _you_ told me to get my head out of my ass!”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I really am.” Daniel stood with his hands in front of him in a gesture of supplication. “But you have to admit it’s hard for me to believe what you’re telling me.”

Jason wiped his face, “I’m not high. I know what she is, Dad – a ghost. Everyone at work knows about her. Hell, they’re thinking about making her a theme for next year’s Halloween party!”

“How can you be so sure?”

“She was dressed like those actresses from the black and white movies you like so much. The hair, the clothes, it all matches the stories I've heard.”

Thompson cautiously sat on his son’s bed. “How many times have you seen her?”

“Five times including tonight,” Jason whispered. “And every time it gets worse.”

“Does she look scarier? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, I _feel_ worse. Tonight, tonight I felt like I had nothing to live for. It was like I was fifteen all over again.”

“Did you want to … kill yourself?” Thompson asked hoarsely.

Jason nodded, “I don’t want to go back there, Dad. I know you’re all proud that I work there but I can't go back!”

“No, no way are you going back,” Thompson shook his head firmly. “If what you’re saying is true, there’s a huge problem and we’re not equipped to deal with it.”

“Who is?” Jason asked. “There are other pages working there, and if she turns on them it’ll only be a matter of time before one of them dies.”

Thompson looked at his son, “I know somebody who had a similar problem. We served in ‘Nam together. Let me call him.”

Jason followed his father into the living room like a scared five-year-old unwilling to be left behind. Thompson put a reassuring arm around his shoulders while dialing.

“Hello? This is Daniel Thompson calling from Astoria. I’m an old buddy of Deacon. Is he home?”

* * *

  
Sam's heart nearly stopped when a Jaguar just managed to swipe by without scratching the Impala. Dean thanked its driver with few choice words and two one-fingered salute. Sam once again re-examined the map in his hands, the frown on his face growing exponentially.

“Dude, please tell me you found the goddamn street!” Dean hollered at his brother. “‘Cause this is the fourth time we circled that store!”

Sam glanced up and saw Dean wasn’t exaggerating. Cringing a little he returned his focus on the map in front of him. “We’re on Broadway, right?”

“Yes, for the third goddamn time we’re on Broadway!”

Sam looked at the street sign when they hit the red light. “Okay, turn right at the next stoplight.”

“You realize I’m going to have to cut across this insane traffic.”

“You asked, Dean, so I’m telling you, right at the next stoplight.” Sam replied, finally letting his irritation show.

Dean gave a sharp glance at Sam before gunning the car. Predictably, horns blared and curses were thrown freely as Dean somehow managed to make the right without killing any of the nimble pedestrians dodging through moving traffic. Sam continued to give directions until they finally found the address given to them by Deacon.

Dean managed to park the car in what seemed like the only available spot in the entire block. With a weary sigh he closed his eyes.

“I hate New York.” Dean hissed as he massaged the back of his neck.

“We’re in Queens,” Sam corrected.

“I hate the entire friggin’ state is what I meant,” Dean snapped. “Let me call Thompson. He damn well better be home or I might just set his house on fire to make myself feel better.”

Luckily for all concerned Thompson was not only home but had genuine Greek food waiting for his guests. Dean’s mood improved dramatically after his third helping of psarosoupa.

Sam watched in shock. He didn’t think Dean would touch the fish soup but his brother dove into it with huge relish. Sam loved it personally but not with the Rabelaisian delight Dean was displaying. Thompson capped off the meal with very strong and sweet coffee. Sam wisely stayed with one cup, figuring he’d be wired for three days if he took two. So, when Dean looked like he was angling for a second Sam gently nudged his brother’s foot.

Dean managed not to pout.

The Thompson family waited until they settled in the small but comfortably furnished living room. Then Daniel retold the conversation that brought the Winchesters to his doorstep.

"So you think she's a ghost?" Dean asked.

Thompson looked at Jason with encouragement. The young man gave a small nod, “Yeah, she is. I know she is.”

“I’m sorry to say this, but how do you know it’s not some elaborate prank?” Sam asked.

“Because every time she shows up it's freezing. The stacks isn't the warmest place in the library but it was like Alaska every time I saw her. And there’s the part where she disappears right in front of me.”

Sam began writing, “So you only see her in the stacks? Nowhere else in the library?”

Jason nodded, “Yeah, and she never shows up when there’s someone with me. It’s like she waits until I’m alone.”

“Do you have any idea why she latched onto you?”

“I don’t know: ‘cause I’m black?” Jason joked weakly.

Sam gave a small but genuine smile, “Anything else?”

“Yeah, she looks like she’s crying, like something really bad happened to her. And what’s worse is I feel it too.”

“Feel what?” Sam asked, giving Dean a glance.

“I feel her pain.”

“So you know why she’s grieving?”

Jason shook his head, “It’s not like that. I get overwhelmed with grief … and it makes me want to do awful things to myself.”

“You mean suicide?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, I think she might have killed herself.” Jason said, “I think something or someone made her do it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the first time … I didn’t feel bad, you know? I actually felt happy, like I found something wonderful, something perfect. But then it became ugly and twisted and … just bad.”

Dean and Sam shared a look. Sam firmly said, “We believe you, Jason. Honestly, we do.”

“What do you think is happening?” Thompson asked.

“I think this spirit has latched onto your son,” Sam answered. “But it’s incapable of haunting him outside the library.”

“So, as long as he stays away from there, he’s safe?”

Sam nodded. “We can’t be positive so we have to make sure it never harms you, Jason.”

“How do you do that?”

“Well, we need access to the stacks,” Sam answered. “I know it’s going to be…”

“That’s not a problem,” Jason answered fervently. “Hell, that should be piece of cake.”

Sam paused for a moment. “You can sneak us in without rousing suspicion?”

Jason nodded, “Yeah. When do you want to go?”

* * *

  
“Of all the jobs in all the states, we end up here,” Dean said, looking at Patience and Fortitude guarding the New York Public Library.

“Suck it in, Dean,” Sam said smiling. He couldn’t believe it. They actually had a hunt located in what was probably one of top five library in the entire world. And Sam couldn’t wait to explore its long-forgotten treasures.

“Sam, please tell me you’re not masturbating to the thought of all those books.” Dean’s drawl interrupted his happy musings.

“Shut up.” Sam replied, unable to cool his eagerness. “This is going to be amazing.”

“You really are a girl, aren’t you? And a geeky one at that.”

“And you’re still overcompensating.”

“Well, at least it’s not the Metropolitan Museum.”

Sam turned to Dean. “What?”

“The Metropolitan Museum,” Dean repeated.

“I got that part, and I still say what?”

“You don’t remember?” Dean asked, smiling. “Man, one of these days you really should check that memory filter of yours.

“When you were like seven years old you read a book called the mixed … up … something and something.”

“Oh my God,” Sam whispered. “You remember _that_?”

“How could I forget? You were determined to run away to New York and live out the rest of your days in a friggin’ museum.” Dean’s smile broadened, “Man, you were one whiny bitch when Dad caught you trying to catch a Greyhound to the Big Apple.”

Sam shook his head, “I totally forgot about that. That was a great book.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Dean dryly said. “You wouldn’t let me anywhere near it.”

“That was because of your pyromaniac tendencies. And the fact your books almost always ended up as coasters.”

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. Sam just pretended Dean wasn’t his brother as they entered the beautiful building. Jason was already waiting for them in the grand foyer, practically rocking back and forth on his heels like an overeager fourth grader.

“You came,” he said softly.

“Of course we did,” Dean replied gruffly. “Wouldn’t want to miss this.”

Sam gave him a sly look of disbelief before following Jason as the young man took the marble stairs. Dean sharply elbowed Sam out of irritation but the Beaux Art building soon distracted his attention.

“Man, this is something else,” Dean whispered to Sam. “This took some serious money.”

“A lot of money,” Sam explained. “It’d be impossible if they tried to build something like this now.”

Sam came to a skidding halt when Jason led them into the reading room on the third floor. It was gigantic: decorated with massive chandeliers, solid wood furniture, and rows of computers resting on top of narrow reference desks. And because of the holidays, the entire place was festooned with wreaths, swags, and garlands.

Dean gave a shallow whistle of admiration and a big nod of approval. “Now this is a library,” he said to Jason.

"It really is something else, isn't it?" Jason whispered.

The young man’s obvious pride was heartening to see. Gone was the tremulous, terrified boy from the night before. Sam asked, “You sure we can do this without attracting attention?”

“Oh yeah, not a problem,” was the confident reply.

Jason marched to an enclosed area and entered without hesitation. He gave a nod towards a librarian whose work station was located right next to the entrance. Her only response was an anemic smile. Jason opened a gate that guarded a dangerously narrow stairs leading down and quickly disappeared from view. Dean and Sam followed, trying not to attract too much attention. Unfortunately, from the buzz rising with their departure, Sam wryly noted it was too much to hope for.

Jason’s happy demeanor vanished quickly when they reached the floor below. “These are the stacks.”

Sam looked around. “Can we use our equipment now?”

“Yeah, some of the pages are around, but we’ll be able to hear them if they’re close.”

Dean quickly began scanning the area, “I’m getting a reading but it’s weak.”

Sam walked halfway down the other end of the floor before scanning. He responded, “Same here.”

“Jason, where did you see her first?” Dean asked.

“First time was on this floor, the other times … when it got worse … few floors below.”

Sam joined them, “This place is huge.”

“It runs the entire city block and has more than five floors just for storage. There are sections where people haven’t visited in years.” Jason explained. “I was in one of those areas when I saw her the last time.”

“Why did you go?” Sam asked. “Was it because you had to retrieve a book?”

Jason shook his head, “No, it was stupid. There's a jackass who's also a page. He took my iPod and hid it as a joke. He knows about the ghost, most everyone who works here does. But I never told him I've been seeing her around.”

“If she’s already a local legend, she’s been around for a while,” Dean said thoughtfully. “Do you know if anyone actually died down here?”

“I asked about that already and nobody died here. And people tell me The Blue Lady's a friendly ghost – nothing bad ever happened to anyone who saw her. Well, besides being scared to death,” Jason added sheepishly.

“Until you came along,” Dean said slowly.

Sam knew what Dean was thinking and decided to ask before Dean started making accusations and pissing off their only ally in this hunt. “Jason, you have to tell us everything. Did you do something down here? Something you’re not suppose to? Something you’re ashamed of, even?”

Jason shook his head firmly, “No, nothing like that. You two are the first guests I brought down here. I never stole anything. I never destroyed a book, I swear.

"You don't understand ... I have a sheet, okay? I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was a kid and it's hard for me to do anything now without people treating me like shit. So I know I have to tread carefully, especially in a place like this.”

“Have the other pages reported seeing her too?”

Jason gave a nod, “Millie did back in October, right before Halloween. She quit the same day.”

“Did it hurt her?” Sam asked.

“No, just rattled her real bad. She comes from a family that has some heavy background on this stuff. Her mother wouldn’t even let her come back to pick up her paycheck. They had to mail it to her.”

“Did Millie say anything to you?”

“To me, no. But she said something to Adam who worked the same shift as her. She said that the ghost wouldn’t leave because of some unfinished business. And it was nasty business.”

Dean’s face darkened, “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Sam agreed. “Jason, I’m going to ask you to do something you won’t like. We need you to lead us to where it was the worst. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yeah, but if she appears I am so out of there. I know when to run and when to fight.”

“Brave doesn’t mean stupid,” Dean agreed with an affable smile. “Let’s get this over with.”

Jason took them to another staircase with even more treacherous stairs. Sam warily eyed the walls as they made their way deeper into the library. Many of their hunts led them into decrepit buildings and their basements, but he never felt so anxious as he did now. He feared they would not only be entombed by the library but by the entire city block.

Dean bumped his shoulder and Sam turned to him. Dean wiggled his eyebrows comically and Sam had to smile in response. Obviously his big brother wasn’t laboring under the same stress he was. Jason turned a corner and led them to a section where broken furniture was piled up high, halfway to the ceiling. Even more disheartening, there were small puddles of water scattered all over the place.

“Holy damn, this looks bad,” Dean said. “What happened here?”

“Not enough money,” Jason answered simply.

Sam felt his heart break a little. It looked like the basement from the friggin’ tulpa hunt. He began scanning the area and the readout definitely pointed to supernatural activity.

“Yahtzee!” Dean said as his EMF meter also went haywire. His happiness soon dampened as he realized what was to follow. “Does this mean we’re going to have dig through this shit?”

Sam sighed and shook his head, “It is.”

“We could just set the stuff on fire…”

Both Jason and Sam turned to Dean with gaping mouths. Sam sputtered, “We’re in a fucking library, Dean!”

“I'm not talking about a bonfire!” Dean wilted under Sam’s anger. "And they probably have a sprinkler system or something."

“This is the New York Public Library,” Jason's anger was even greater than Sam's. “Don't even think about it!”

“All right, all right. Sheesh,” Dean said, taking a step back. “So, what are we going to do now?”

“We’re going to wait until the library closes. Then we’re going to start sifting through all this,” Sam gritted out. “And I swear you even go near a match and _I’ll_ hogtie you.”

Dean scraped up a hurt look before sitting down on a wobbly chair.

“Could you get our bag?” Sam asked. He saw the boy's eyes flare with fear and quickly added, “Do you want one of us to come with you?”

Jason shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Sam watched the boy walk away with his shoulders proud and firm. However, when he turned the corner Sam distinctly heard running footsteps. He turned to Dean with a smile.

“Brave kid,” Dean said.

Sam nodded in agreement. He walked towards the nearest stack and began perusing. The volumes looked old, with gilded covers. The entire collection seemed to focus on the textile mills in Waltham, Massachusetts, during the Industrial Revolution. As didactic as the material was, the writing was bright with wit and sharp observations. It wasn’t long before Sam began reading in earnest.

Which was why it took him a little while to notice Dean flipping open each book in the collection and carefully checking the endpapers.

“What are you doing?”

“A lot of the rich people in the old days went crazy at the end. They would hide money in between the cover and the endpaper.”

Sam managed to hold in his laughter. However, his voice was definitely hoarse when he said, “Dean, these are reprints and probably came directly from the printers. I really doubt they hid money in the books before shipping them off.”

Dean flushed dully as he reshelved the book he was examining. To Sam’s great amusement Dean started on another shelf of what seemed like genuine antique books when Jason returned.

“Do you need anything?” Jason asked as he watched Dean go through the heavy duffel.

“Nah,” Dean shook his head. “We’re good. Are you going back to work?”

“I got a shift in the Reading Room, so I won’t be down here.”

Sam checked his cell and noticed it was dead. “I’m guessing we’re too far below ground to get a signal.”

“Yeah, you won’t get any until you’re topside,” Jason explained. “The walls are way too thick.”

“What is that sound weird whirling sound I heard earlier?” Dean asked. “I’ve heard it for a while.”

“That’s the conveyor belt that takes the books upstairs. We’re not a lending library like the others. Books have to be requested through proper channels.”

“A library that doesn’t loan out books?” Dean said, turning to Sam. “Dude, that’s just wrong.”

“Don’t worry, Dean. I’m sure the rest of the libraries in this city are more than happy to lend their collection.”

“Sarcasm makes you look bitchy,” Dean remarked in irritation.

Sam just gave a small sigh at Jason who was openly smiling at their verbal sparring. The young man gave a nod of farewell before leaving. After making sure Jason reached the stairs safely Dean pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket. Sam took his usual place and soon the two of them began playing Winchester Poker. A card game full of deceit, sleight of hand, and other cheating techniques taught to them by their father.

The game went on for hours, with the two of them sharpening their skills on each other. Then the lights began flickering. Sam quickly reached for the EMF meter while Dean grabbed the shotgun. Then noises began reverberating above them. Sam checked his watch.

“They’re closing up,” he said.

“Man, it sounds like they’re shutting down missile silos.” Dean said, wincing at the clanking.

“Dude, we have reading.” Sam said then deliberately turned to face his brother in order to witness Dean slipping into hunter mode. Sam always prized the moment when Dean suddenly turned from a loudmouth playboy into the Hunter that so many of their kind speak of in admiration, respect, and a healthy dose of fear.

Dean suddenly whirled to his right, his shotgun aimed at the darkness marching towards them from the other end of the floor.

“I don’t think that’s happening because they’re turning off the lights upstairs.” Sam said.

“No, I don’t think so either,” Dean coolly agreed.

Sam pocketed the EMF meter and took out his gun. The darkness ended six feet in front of them. It felt eerie, their corner the only lit area on the entire floor.

“Come out come out wherever you are,” Dean softly hummed under his breath.

Sam forced himself not to do another eye roll in honest fear that they were going to be permanently stuck in that position.

_Death by testicular homicide. I bet that's what the Coroner's going to write on Dean's autopsy report._ Sam thought with a mental smirk.

Dean had little to want when it came to bravery. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for caution or common sense. In fact, the plain truth was Dean’s balls held the leash and his brother was usually more than happy to let them lead. This should have guaranteed Dean’s death early on but, somehow, the older Winchester boy managed to continuously dodge the Reaper with a crooked grin and the classic one-finger salute.

“Sam, it’d be nice if you paid attention?” Dean said, eyeing his brother with great annoyance.

Sam forgot about his previous worry and did an eye roll. The two continuously scanned the floor, expecting something to make a grab for them. Minutes ticked by with nothing happening save Dean’s belly rumbling in protest.

“Well, this is anticlimactic,” Dean said, relaxing his grip on the shotgun. “And weird.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it is.”

“Do you think she’s playing us?”

“Maybe, or she knows why we’re here and doesn’t want to show.”

“A shy ghost,” Dean said. “That’d be the first.”

“Or a smart one,” Sam corrected. “She might be up to something.”

“With our luck, she’s probably planning to bring down the entire library on our heads.”

“That’s not funny, Dean.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

Before Sam could afford a comeback Dean whirled to his left, his shotgun aimed at the darkness. Sam followed without question, and in the next breath he was only too glad he was trained to follow Dean’s lead. The ghost appeared, her shimmering figure outlined by the darkness. Sam could definitely understand why Jason had compared her to the actresses from the 40’s. By modern standards her evening gown was positively chaste but it accentuated her lush figure. And she moved gracefully, as if having guns aimed at her was an ordinary annoyance.

Dean frowned, “Something’s not right.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know – it feels off somehow.”

Sam’s eyes widened. How could he have forgotten Jason’s story about his emotional rollercoaster ride whenever he met up with the ghost?

“Dean, listen to me. Remember what Jason said? Remember how she nearly drove him to suicide?”

“That’s not what I mean, you dumbass!” Dean snapped, his focus still on the The Blue Lady. “I mean she’s not wary, not scared, but she isn’t acting totally batshit crazy either. Unless she’s got no clue that she’s a ghost.”

The emergency water pipe half-embedded into the wall next to them exploded, drenching both Winchesters within seconds.

“Fuck me!” Dean shouted just before the pile of broken furniture launched itself at them.

Sam barely managed to duck a chunk of wood aimed at his head before dragging Dean away from the corner and into the darkness.

“I guess she had a plan,” Sam panted.

“A damn good one too. I’m going to so waste the bitch.”

“Dean, we left our bag back there. It’s got everything, including the extra ammo.”

Dean snarled, “I’m still going to waste her.”

“Nuh-uh,” Sam said. “You’re not setting anything on fire.”

He heard Dean’s sharp intake of air and braced himself for a tirade. It never came as lights suddenly flooded the entire floor. Both men squinted and blinked, trying to get used to brightness again.

Sam looked at Dean and gasped. His brother’s face was covered with blood.

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam wordlessly grabbed Dean’s head and began checking for wounds. He found a large gash and tried to stymie the blood flow with paper napkins he always carried around. Dean winced at the pressure and fumbled as he took off his wet jacket. He then peeled off the equally soaked flannel shirt and ripped it apart for Sam to use as bandages.

The two cautiously made their way back to find their duffel gone.

“What now?” Sam asked as he made half-defeated movement to shuffle aside the scattered pieces of broken furniture.

Dean sighed and eyed the catastrophe. “We have to find the bag. We can’t afford to leave it behind.”

“Not to mention it’ll probably end up in the hands of Agent Henriksen,” Sam said. "And the last thing we need is to give more fuel to feed his psychosis."

“But first we better catch this bitch and find out what she wants.”

Sam turned to Dean in surprise. “You’re actually curious?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“It’s just that you’re usually salt-n-burn when it comes to poltergeists.”

“I don’t think she is one,” Dean said. “Yeah, she does the whole whirly-gig thing but that emotional manipulation stunt is something extra.”

“Vengeful spirit?”

“Maybe, maybe something else. I hate to say it but I think Jason had something when he said she’s haunting him because he’s black.”

“A racist ghost?” Sam said with a small grin. “Are you serious?”

“With what happened to Cassie? Hell yeah.”

Experience made Sam refrain from offhandedly dismissing Dean's speculation. And the truth was even the racial angle, though weak at best, was still better than nothing, which was what they currently had.

“Why do you say that?” Sam asked.

“She tried to get rid of us but enticed Jason,” Dean answered promptly. “If she wanted to scare him he would’ve left this place way before. Instead, she lured him in before finally hitting him with the suicidal whammy.”

Sam paused for a moment to digest the idea. “Okay, that makes sense. So she’s targeting Jason for a reason.”

“And I think that reason is his race,” Dean explained. “She ignored the other pages except for Millie.”

“And Millie came from a family that’s steeped in this stuff, so she knew when to take off and save her own skin.”

Dean glanced around the brightly lit floor. “I think she’s playing with us, but that won’t last long. Not when she realizes Jason won’t be coming around anymore and we’re to blame for it.”

“The big question is what does she want with Jason?”

“Considering the fact she tried to drive him to suicide – nothing good.”

“Dean, what are we going to use as backup?”

“Don’t worry about that … much. I’ll scrape up something. It’ll just take me some time.”

And Sam believed him one hundred percent. By experience he knew knives get lost, ammo get spent, bags containing additional weaponry get tossed out of reach, and when that happens Dean turns into a berserker with a creative streak. He’d grab anything he could get his hands on and convert the material into weapons.

The more memorable ones were a kitchen sink, a German Shepherd puppy, its mother, jars of salsa, an entire shelf of antique Limoge plates, one-of-a kind killer stiletto heels from a designer named Manilo something, and fourteen gallons of used fryer oil.

Then there was Fenway Park, which had to be the most spectacular stunt Dean had ever pulled off. His brother would have passed all these off as lucky coincidences but Sam knew better. When it came to the Hunt Dean was at times as supernatural as the creatures they hunted. Sometimes, Sam thought a higher power had a direct link into Dean’s brain, giving him helpful points when they were cornered.

And wasn’t that a scary thought?

Sam always carried extra clips for his gun. He figured Dean must have at least half-dozen shells for his shotgun and probably an extra clip for his Glock.

“Dude, she’s back,” Dean whispered to him, pointing at the wisp-like figure standing less than ten feet from them.

Sam studied her intently, trying to anticipate the next attack. A full minute passed as the two parties stared at each other. Finally Dean asked,

“Why are you here?”

The ghost began weeping silently, her tears leaving a bright trail down her face. Sam, emboldened by Dean’s behavior, asked, “What can we do to help?”

The woman turned to the corner where the pile of broken furniture lay. Dean sighed, “I guess we’re gonna have to dig after all.”

They cautiously approached the corner and began working without losing sight of the ghost. Because they had to examine everything the work was going as a snail’s pace. However, the ghost seemed to be more than willing to wait.

Sam was halfway done with his pile when he saw the missing duffel bag. He gave a mental sigh of relief and cautiously set it next to him where he could have immediate access if the need arose. Then Sam noticed under the bag there was what used to be a small writing desk. He thought it must have been a beautiful piece of furniture long time ago, but now it was only a wreck with no legs and three out of five drawers missing. He picked it up to put it aside when a small book slipped out from the desk.

Sam saw the ghost’s immediate reaction and grabbed the book from the floor. Its cover was that of the Holy Bible but when he opened it, it turned out to be a diary. Dean peered over his shoulder as Sam began reading. Sam flipped to the last entry and read backwards. After reading fourteen entries Sam knew this was why the ghost was hanging on.

He turned to her and firmly said, “I’ll take care of this. I promise.”

The woman gave a solemn nod and vanished.

“Sam, what’s in it?”

“Jason was right. She committed suicide,” Sam explained.

Dean shook his head, “I guess we’ve got our reading material. How much longer before we can get out of here?”

“Another five hours. I’ll probably be done with this by the time the library opens.”

Dean nodded and made himself comfortable, using the duffel bag as a pillow. “You know the drill. Head injury - every hour on the hour.”

Sam didn’t bother to respond as he began reading. In a few minutes Dean’s snores began but Sam was already lost in the diary.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finally has a chance to fulfill a lifelong dream. Unfortunately he has to go on a hunt to get it.

Sam was only too well aware that Dean was not the type to wake slowly. He would be at complete rest one moment and fight-ready a second later. So Sam wasn’t at all surprised when Dean suddenly woke from his sleep, his body already tense and prepared for battle.

“She hasn’t come back,” Sam said.

“What did you find out?” Dean asked, visibly relaxing.

“Her name’s Josephine Kerry, and she was a member of a very prominent New York family.” Sam pulled out an old photo from the diary and handed it to Dean. The picture contained two women – one of who was the ghost.

“She fell in love with a man named Jack Spencer in the summer of 1943. Her father didn’t approve of their relationship, so he gave her an ultimatum – her family or her boyfriend. She eloped with the guy and got pregnant. Few months after the wedding he went off to fight and was killed in Italy.”

“That sucks,” Dean said. “Let me guess, she was left penniless?”

“Yeah, but Jo was one of those women who could make it on her own, and she was doing just that when her father came back into her life. He practically begged her to rejoin the family. In fact, he used his grandchild as leverage. He offered to pay for kid’s education and everything. Even agreed to acknowledge the baby as an official Kerry. That finally convinced Jo to come back to her family.

“Two months later she gave birth to a healthy boy named Marcus. It was then the shit really hit the fan. Jack Spencer was black. Something she forgot to mention to her dad or anyone, in fact.”

“How come? You can't hide something like that.”

“Jack was fair enough to pass for a white man. And Josephine thought their baby would look just like his father. When her father found out he went nuclear. It took some talking but Josephine’s mother convinced Daddy Dearest not to toss out their daughter again.

“Instead, he gave the baby to another couple. At least that’s what he said he did.”

“I’m not going to like what’s coming, am I?”

“No, you’re not. Three years passed before she caved in and sneaked off to see her son. That’s when she found out Marcus had passed away soon after she relinquished him to her father.”

“The bastard killed his own grandson?”

“Looks like. It was all too much for her.”

“So she killed herself.” Dean finished. “Jesus, this is so messed up.”

“We have to find out if there are any relatives left. Jo wants people to know the truth. That’s why she's been haunting this library and targeting Jason specifically.”

“And then we burn the diary?”

“Then we burn the diary,” Sam agreed. “And that should be the end of it.”

“How long do you think she’s been here?”

“Her last entry was dated November of 1947.”

“So she’s been waiting for sixty years?”

“Looks like.”

Dean shook his head, “Like I said, demons I get. People are just batshit insane.”

Sam gave a solemn nod and pocketed the diary. They made their way to the prearranged spot to meet up with Jason only to discover the young man had come early. When he saw them genuine relief washed over his face.

“Damn glad to see you,” Jason said, handing them hot cups of coffee.

Sam was too grateful to wonder how Jason had managed to sneak the coffee in without getting caught.

“Did you get rid of it?” Jason asked.

“No, but we know what’s going on.” Dean answered. “And you really don’t want to hear it, kid. It’s ugly, depressing, and would put a serious downer on your Christmas plans.”

“Do you need my help?”

“Yeah, actually now that you mention it,” Dean said. “Can you get us some records?”

“I can do one better.” Jason answered proudly.

“Awesome!” Dean said with a wide grin.

Three hours later Sam wished Dean hadn’t so eagerly taken up on Jason’s offer. They were buried neck-deep in multiple records with fonts designed to blind the readers within hours of exposure. He heard Dean’s long-suffering sigh and was tempted to slam his book on top of Dean’s skull. Instead, he settled for throwing a dirty look at his brother.

“Dude, I don’t think she has any surviving family members left.” Dean said after closing the record book in front of him.

“I think you’re right.” Sam agreed wearily as he reread his notes.

“So, should we just get to the burning?”

“Looks like,” Sam answered then smiled as Dean raised his arms in quiet triumph.

* * *

  
They cautiously made their way down the street, looking for an alley where they could safely destroy the diary without raising any suspicions. Both were mindful of the fact that NYC was hotwired with security cameras and they were still very much on the FBI’s Wanted List. The last thing they needed was to make a stupid mistake and be identified before they could make a quick getaway. After all, as Sam had reminded Dean, Manhattan was still an island and there were only so many ways of getting out.

Finally Dean found a back alley crammed with huge dumpsters. Unless someone was actively looking they would be screened from view by the oversized metal containers. Sam found a dry corner and doused the diary with some kerosene. He lit the book and dropped it to the ground, ready to extinguish the flames at a moment’s notice. The two watched with growing trepidation as the flames licked the dusty book with no effect.

“What the fuck?” Dean whispered as he watched the diary burn and burn.

“Oh shit,” Sam said as he realized what was happening. With a heavy sigh he stomped out the flames.

“What just happened?” Dean asked as he picked up the diary and flipped through it. The book was slightly covered in soot but otherwise untouched.

“We’re in trouble,” Sam answered as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“How big…” Dean couldn’t finish his question as his cell interrupted the conversation. He looked at the caller ID and answered quickly.

“Jason? What’s wrong?”

Sam looked at his brother with open worry.

“We’ll be right there.” Dean said, his mouth set in a grim line. “Josephine Kerry must have sensed what we were doing and got really pissed. So far she’s shoved two people down the main stairs.”

“What? She’s surfaced from the stacks?”

“Yep, and now she’s on a rampage.”

“We missed something.”

“I know,” Dean said. “But what?”

“Maybe there _is_ someone who needs to know?”

“Her husband’s definitely dead. His last surviving family member died ten years ago. She was an only child, and her parents didn’t have any surviving family members. The Kerry family tree is pretty much pruned to death. Who else is left? Her dog?”

Sam shook his head, “I don’t know. But we must have missed something.”

“Well, we’re going to have to go back. If only to stop her from going loco again.”

As it turned out the entire library was in lockdown because of some crazy woman who was seen shoving people down the main stairs. Sam wondered how the hell the security could have missed the fact that their ‘perp’ was dressed in a fashion dating back over half a century, and possessed the ability to appear and disappear at will. But, as he watched their nervous faces he wondered if they did, in truth, missed all those details or they were just unwilling to say them and risk being labeled as a nut.

Dean found Jason in the large crowd milling around the building and guided him to Sam.

“What’s going on?” Jason asked, trembling with fear. “I thought you guys had this under control.”

“We did too,” Sam said. “Obviously we were wrong.”

“Did you see her, Jason?” Dean asked.

Sam felt like an ass when Jason nodded unsteadily. How could he have forgotten Josephine’s ghost was gunning for the kid?

“I thought I had a mental snap when I saw her on the staircase,” Jason explained, his voice reed-thin with terror. “But then I saw her push Mrs. Kim and I knew I wasn’t hallucinating.

“She looked at me again but all I wanted to do was run. So I tried and that’s when she pushed the second person. Then I just freaked out and ran. I haven’t been inside since.”

“Jason, listen to me,” Sam said in a stern voice. “You did the right thing. Trust me, we don’t know what her intentions are yet so it’s best if you don’t go inside.”

“We may have a problem with that,” Dean said.

“What now?” Jason asked despairingly.

Dean pulled out the diary from his jacket pocket. “Technically she’s no longer tied down to the stacks.”

“Damn,” Sam swore softly. Then he turned to Jason and said, “We need more information.”

“What kind of information?”

“Wills and trusts. Even though there are no surviving family members, the money had to have been distributed somehow. Maybe we can find some useful information.”

Jason took a deep calming breath then nodded. Dean gave a comforting pat on the kid’s shoulder before throwing a worried glance towards Sam. Sam knew what that look meant: Dean’s internal countdown has begun.

* * *

  
Sam finally finished reading the documents. He had touched upon Property Law while attending Stanford and had fervently promised himself to never enter that arena of law. The information in front of him made him realize how marvelously sane that choice was.

“Any luck?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, from what I can gather Josephine’s mother died few years after her daughter’s suicide and left everything to her husband. He never remarried and died childless in 1963. His estate, which was considerable, was divided into three parts. One went to create a foundation for - and get this - helping orphans. Specifically, children of color.”

Dean’s smile was sharp and ugly. “Probably regretted killing off the only grandchild he’d ever have. The pathetic son of a bitch.”

“The second part went to support the public library system in Manhattan.”

“Really?” Dean said, “I wonder if that’s how the diary ended up in the junk pile.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Could be. It’s plausible that his furniture and book collection were willed to the library.

“What’s interesting is the third part. He willed it to a girl named Nancy Donaldson. I don’t know who she is but if she’s alive she shouldn’t be so hard to find, considering her part of the inheritance was nearly ten million dollars.”

“Nancy?” Dean repeated. “Nancy … wait a minute.”

Dean flipped through the diary and pulled out the photograph Sam had shown earlier. He handed it to his brother and said, “read the back.”

Sam did. “Jo and Nan, 1941, The Lindy’s Spring Fling.”

Dean waited until Sam was finished studying the photograph. “I think she’s too young to be his mistress in the picture. But who the hell knows?”

“Now all we have to do is track her.”

“Let me call Jason.”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“Because all this is tied to the library, even Josephine. Maybe this Donaldson lady is too.”

Sam waited impatiently as Dean made the call outside as phone calls were forbidden in the reading room. When Sam saw Dean enter with a triumphant grin he knew his brother’s instinct paid off.

“Her name’s still Donaldson,” Dean whispered eagerly. “And she is one of the library’s most dedicated patrons. He got her address. It’s on Park Avenue so I’m guessing we’re gonna have to get scrubbed up.”

“No time,” Sam shook his head. “We’re just going to have to bullshit our way in.”

“I’ll take it. I hate those friggin' jackets anyway. Makes me look like an IRS dork.”

* * *

  
The doorman gave them the hairy eyeball when they walked by, and Sam found himself straightening out his threadbare jacket as a reflex.

A young man dressed in a conservative but fashionable suit waited for them in the foyer.

“Mr. Dean Kirke and Mr. Samuel Burrell?”

“That would be us,” Dean said.

“My name is Andrew Selby. Please follow me.” The assistant said before briskly herding them down the marble corridor and into an ornate elevator.

“You were lucky to have called today,” Andrew said. “She was due to leave for her winter residence the day after tomorrow.”

“I see,” Sam said. “Well, we’re just grateful that she has allowed us audience, especially considering her schedule.”

“I must admit I was surprised,” Andrew chatted as he scanned his Blackberry. “She was very excited to get your phone call. In fact, she canceled all her afternoon appointments.

“May I ask why?”

Dean saw the sly glance and quickly said, “We found something Ms. Donaldson might be interested in. A historical item related to the Library.”

“Oh,” Andrew deflated visibly, “of course. She’s positively obsessed about that place. I don’t know why – I mean books are so obsolete if you ask me.”

“Really?” Sam said, his cold tone clearly reflecting his disdain.

Suddenly the elevator door opened to a private residence that encompassed the entire twenty-third floor. Both he and Dean took a look at the apartment and then at each other. This was luxury they only _heard_ about. Andrew stiffly led them to what he called the ‘morning room’ and left without a word of farewell.

Both Winchesters stood awkwardly, neither wanting to take a seat only to discover they had destroyed a museum-quality piece of furniture.

“Well, either I’m in heaven or you are the ones who contacted me,” a strong female voice said from behind them.

Sam whirled around and saw an elderly woman standing in the doorway. Her hair was snow-white and sparse, her face wizened. But her eyes were clear and Sam suspected her mind even clearer.

“Yes, we are.” Sam said. “Ms. Donaldson?”

“Oh, call me Nan. I hate it when people stick Ms. or Mrs. or whatnot in front of my name. It confuses matters.”

“Nan,” Sam said with a genuine smile. “I think we have something that belongs to you.”

Dean handed over the diary without a word. Nan’s eyes immediately widened in shock as she looked at the small book in her hands.

“Oh my God, where did you find it?” She whispered.

“In the Library, hidden inside a junked desk,” Dean said. “We thought it might be … of personal value to someone, considering how much private information it contains.”

Nan’s eyes grew hard. “If you’re blackmailing me you’ll find me a cold customer.”

“No, no that’s not it. We just want … we just want you to read it.” Sam hastily explained.

“Why?”

“Because Josephine’s ghost has been on a rampage for over fifty years, trying to get the truth out.” Dean said bluntly. He caught Sam’s panicked gaze and said, “What? It’s the truth!”

“You mean to tell me the Blue Lady of the Library is Jo?” Nan asked.

“You know about the ghost?” Sam asked.

“Of course, anyone who’s had some dealing with the place knows about her. I personally never saw her, but heaven knows I’ve heard a story or two about her.”

“It’s her, Nan.” Sam said kindly. “And I think she’s been unable to move on because of what was done to her. And her son.”

Nan’s gaze flared in shock once more. Sam took back the diary and flipped to the relevant section before handing it back to her. Nan began reading and it wasn’t long before she understood what Dean meant when he mentioned ‘private information.’

“I always knew my father was a bastard, but this … this is unforgivable!”

“So you and Josephine were sisters?” Sam asked.

“Half sisters. My mother was his mistress and I was his bastard. It was no secret, even Jo knew the truth. But she never treated me ill because of it. The truth was she was very good to me. Made sure I was taken care of, gave me all the comforts a big sister would have.

“When she ran away and got married, it nearly broke my heart. But I was happy for her. I knew how much she loved her husband. When her man died over in Italy I was genuinely sad for Jo.”

“So you didn’t know about his…”

“No, I didn’t.” Nan sat down, her grief unveiling her age. “Oh, our father was a hard man, an unforgiving man. When he took Jo back I was shocked, but I was so glad I didn’t question why. Jo seemed happy at first but it wasn’t long before she and our father were butting heads again.

“Then one day … all I knew was she died in a boating accident. That’s all they said. I had no cause to believe otherwise. The poor girl. If I only knew … God, if I only knew.”

“Now you do.” Dean said gently.

“Lot of good that’s going to do now,” Nan said, her voice thick with tears. “I miss her so much. She had such fire in her, such love of life. She was a fearless girl, which is why I never suspected suicide.”

“Nan, can I try something?” Sam asked.

“Of course.”

Sam took the diary, flipped to a blank page and ripped it out. He handed the book back to Nan and then walked to the ornate fireplace. Dean held his breath as Sam lit the page with a lighter. They both gave a huge sigh of relief as it immediately burst into flames.

“She’s at rest now,” Sam said. “She’s at peace.”

“Are you sure? How can you be sure?”

Sam heard the desperate, unspoken plea for reassurance. “We’re sure. It’s our job to be sure.”

Nan clutched the diary to her chest and wept in earnest. Dean put a comforting hand on the frail shoulder as the old woman grieved for a sister stolen from her by betrayal.

* * *

  
“Dude, let’s get the fuck out of here,” Dean whispered as he anxiously eyed the upscale clientele waiting for the elevator. All of whom eyed them with equal anxiety.

“No,” Sam hissed. “We’re never going to have a chance to stay in a hotel like this ever again, so if you want to go to some roach-infested meth dive, be my guest. But I am planning to spend some quality time with the shower and the wireless internet.”

Dean clenched his jaw as he followed Sam into the elevator.

“Why the hell is it called Mandarin Oriental when we’re not even in China, huh? Sounds dodgy to me.”

Sam closed his eyes and willed his brother to shut the hell up.

After calming down, Nan decided to show her gratitude by treating them to what she called ‘a proper good time in her town’. As it turned out her idea of a good time included two nights at the new Mandarin Oriental, a Broadway play, and meals at some of the best restaurants that wouldn’t care who their clientele was as long as the check got paid.

Dean was about to refuse the offer and backpedal out of the apartment as fast as possible, but Sam eagerly accepted the generous gift. He had imagined as a child that one day he was going to live it up in the Big Apple, and now that dream was handed to him on a proverbial silver platter he had little qualm about taking it.  
  
The front desk hostess didn’t bat an eye when they checked in and cheerfully reviewed the hotel’s amenities while giving Dean a heated glance over. Dean relaxed immediately now that he was in a familiar element and flirted outrageously with the woman who seemed genuinely appreciative of his attention.

Sam had to practically drag his brother away from the desk but not before Dean found out the receptionist’s name, cell number, and the time she got off work. Dean was grinning like he’d won the lottery during the elevator ride, but his smile was nothing compared to Sam’s when they entered their suite.

“Holy shit,” Dean said aloud as he stared at the rooms. “Is she serious?”

“Oh God, yes.” Sam said dramatically as he dove into a king-sized bed. Miracle of all miracles his feet didn’t dangle. In fact the bed could comfortably cocoon both Winchesters without a problem.

“Look at this … dude, you could fit in this tub,” Dean said from the bathroom.

Sam scurried off the bed and into the bathroom where, indeed, there was a Sam-sized bathtub.

“Get out,” Sam whispered as he lovingly stroked the brass faucets.

“Umm … okay,” Dean said with laughter in his eyes as he watched Sam turn on the hot water.

Rarely did they have the luxury of using as much hot water as they would have liked. So Sam wanted to soak himself until he’d turn red and wrinkly.

“Do you want room service?” Dean shouted from the sitting area.

“Just order me a chicken dish!” Sam answered through the closed door. “I don’t care! And some coffee!”

“Jesus Christ! Look at these friggin’ prices! Man, this is the best con I’ve ever seen.”

Sam chuckled at the awe and disbelief in his brother’s voice. Fifteen minutes later steaming dishes of heavenly food surrounded them. After Dean finished his meal of Kobe beef hamburger with parmesan-crusted fries, he went on-line to read about the play they were seeing later in the evening.

“Are these people for real?” Dean said aloud as he read the New York Times review.

“What people?” Sam asked as he tried to make himself look halfway presentable in his JCpenny suit.

“This O’Neill guy who wrote the play we’re seeing.”

Sam froze for a moment. He softly said, “ _Long Day’s Journey Into Night_. It’s thought to be his best, Dean. And many consider it to be one of the greatest if not the greatest American play ever.”

“Dude, this family makes us look like the Waltons.”

Sam couldn’t stop himself. He sat down and laughed, loudly. He remembered how greatly that play affected him when he first saw it in Stanford. Though he knew he was nothing like Edmund, the tragedy that circled the character, and truthfully the entire family, had him rethinking about the life he had so callously left behind.

“We’re not going to see it,” Dean said firmly.

“Yes we are. If anything, watching another family fuck it up better than us should give us a sense of accomplishment.”

“That’s seriously twisted.”

“You’ll enjoy it, Dean.”

“You sure you want to see it? Theresa downstairs has a pretty friend and we could go out and party hardy in the Big Apple.”

Sam realized Dean was hesitant to go to the play because of him. No, he was nothing like Edmund for Dean sure as hell was nothing like Jamie.

“Yeah, you’ll love it. Trust me.”

Dean did, of course. So no, he was nothing like Jamie.

* * *

  
The next day Dean was uncharacteristically reserved. Sam knew Dean was brooding about the play but decided not to push the topic. It wasn’t until they were at Rockefeller Center to see the world-famous Christmas tree that Dean began talking again.

“It didn’t have the necessary stuff to make a Balanced Winchester Meal, but it came damn close.”

Sam had to think for a moment before realizing Dean was talking about the play.

“Am I going to regret asking what a Balanced Winchester Meal is?”

“Winchester’s idea of a balanced meal: grief, confusion, with a big dash of shit-in-your-pants terror.”

Sam nearly spewed the soda he was drinking. Dean just grinned and watched as Sam wiped off his mouth with his coat sleeve.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, sounds familiar,” Dean replied casually as he checked out the a group of beautifully dressed young Asian women, one of whom was eyeing him with inviting curiosity.

“Dude, let’s see where they’re going.” Dean said eagerly as the women started walking away.

Before Sam could object Dean dove into the hectic crowd, chasing after his quarry. The younger Winchester snarled some choice words as he had to elbow his way through the tightly packed shoppers, all who seemed to want to go in the opposite direction. Sam finally spotted his errant brother staring at a window display with what could only be described as ecstasy. He wondered what the store could possibly offer that it would successfully take Dean’s attention from his favorite and probably only legal hobby.

When Sam reached his brother it didn’t take long for him to fall into the same state as Dean.

The pristine display offered beautiful Japanese confectionary, packaged in gorgeous containers that seemed to be specifically made to be turned into keepsake boxes. The two women behind the register eyed them with gentle amusement as they stopped drooling and finally entered the store. After a long discussion Dean hunkered down forty dollars and got two boxes filled with sweets.

They hadn’t a clue they actually received fifty dollars worth.

As they exited the store Dean looked at Sam with such childish glee all Sam could do was smile back. Rarely has he seen his brother’s face so open with joy, and innocent at that. Sam decided to splurge and got both of them coffee from Starbucks before returning to the hotel. Somehow they managed not to delve into the boxes until they snagged two prime viewing seats in the lobby in order to watch the famous city skyline come to life with dazzling lights.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask one of the cashiers for a night out,” Sam said while munching on something he could only describe as heavenly.

“Why would I?”

“Umm … bustyasianbeauties.net?” Sam sniggered as Dean coughed up some coffee. Never let it be said he wasn’t a patient man.

“Bite your tongue! Those women are ladies!” Dean scolded as he deftly popped an entire pastry into his mouth.

Sam watched in unabashed amazement. He had tried that stunt once when he was nine and nearly choked to death. So, he took a cautious bite into his and closed his eyes, making blissful noises. Unfortunately he didn’t realize this afforded Dean to take a quick picture of him with his cell.

“So, you think Edmund’s going to make it?”

Sam reminded himself that Dean’s brain worked in mysterious ways. “Don’t know.”

“Do you think Jamie’s going to make it?”

“Don’t know that either.”

“Do you want them to?”

“Of course I do. What the hell kind of question is that?!”

“Just that some people, a lot of people actually, would say they got what they deserved. After all they’re the ones who fucked up their lives. And if they don’t have the balls to see that, then they get what’s coming to them.”

“Then a lot of people are going to get coals for Christmas.” Sam answered firmly. “And _they_ deserve what’s coming to them.”

Dean gave a single nod, “Yeah, bro. I do too. Hey, think Nan’s having a good time whooping it up in Italy?”

“Oh I hope so. I really do.”

“Do you think we deserve what’s coming to us?”

“Damn right I do,” Sam answered without hesitation. He turned to Dean and caught his brother’s gaze. “By the way, Merry Christmas.”

“Do you know what would make it even merrier?”

“Theresa and her friend?”

“Good guess but no. You’re gonna love this. I found out where they keep that New Year Ball they use in Time Square. I think we could…”

“Oh God, Dean, no!”

“C’mon, man, it’s in some friggin’ warehouse! That’s just beggin’ to be…”

“I said no!”

“Sam, don’t be a pussy! It’ll take…”

“No,” Sam replied, hunching into his chair. “No, no no nooo…”

**The End**

* * *

  
**Author's Notes** :

The Japanese confectionary shop is quite real. It's called [Minamoto Kitchoan](http://www.kitchoan.com/E/index_b_natsu2004_e.html). If you are in NYC I highly recommend visiting it, as its sweets are legendary. I have a huge fondness for the library. It has been one of my favorite haunts during childhood, and though there is no Blue Lady, I am quite it has its fair share of ghost stories!


End file.
